😱😱 In retaliation for my husband’s infidelity, I cheated on him with the first homeless man I met and became pregnant with him. However, after nine months, something terrible was discovered.
My family, I had always thought, was as strong as a wall. But in a moment, everything fell apart.
I once caught my husband having an affair. Instead of attempting to defend himself, he accused me: It’s your fault. You ceased to be a lady. You no longer take care of yourself; all you do is work.
The betrayal itself was less painful than their remarks. The worst thing, though, was that my family supported him. “Just accept it, all men cheat,” even my mother remarked.
The final straw was that. I was fuming with humiliation and rage. I had the wild idea to exact the cruelest kind of retribution. With the first man I met, to cheat back. Not out of want or love, but out of anger.
I stepped outside. A man in shabby clothes sat on the pavement, munching a roll as though it were his only food. “He will be my retaliation,” I thought ominously.
My husband lost his mind when he learned. Finally, our marriage fell apart. I soon discovered, however, that I was pregnant.
That same man from the street was the child’s father.
I wanted to quit. However, a peculiar feeling began to grow inside of me, as though fate had sent the child. I chose to retain him.
😲😵Nine months went by in the blink of an eye. Then there was the maternity ward, with bright lights and physicians around. The doctor then said something that left me speechless.
My heart was pounding so loudly that it seemed to be audible through the walls as I lay in the delivery room. The lamps’ sterile glare was dazzling, and the only sounds surrounding me were the nurses’ voices and the slight hum of equipment.
The doctor who had delivered the infant suddenly approached. His eyes widened as he stared at my face, and he whispered, almost silently: — It’s Is it you?
I blinked, unable to comprehend what he was saying. His face was mostly hidden by the mask, so I was unable to interpret his reaction. And it didn’t matter at the time.
As I tried to accept that my life had altered irrevocably, I held my baby in my arms in the delivery room.
Abruptly, the door slowly opened, and the doctor entered the room. I know the truth about your child, he murmured softly as he came to a stop in front of me.
My heart leaped, and my hands gripped. He was fully aware of what had transpired with the “homeless man” that evening, which made me feel both ashamed and afraid.
I didn’t turn away as I murmured, “Wh… what do you mean?”
Then his mask came off. Everything in my chest clenched in that instant. I knew the man from the street when I saw his face.
“This is my kid,” he declared. — I conducted a genetic analysis.
With my mind refusing to accept and my pulse pounding, I lowered my gaze to the infant. The doctor went on: I just sat down on the street since I was tired from a long shift. You believed that I was homeless at the time.
My entire life flipped upside down in that instant. Fear, guilt, and hatred vanished, leaving just the miracle—the child proved to be the connection between our shared past and our new opportunity at life.
